South of Sunnyside

Last summer I learned that my mother had sold her Harley (yes, she had a Harley). Upon uttering that I would have potentially been interested in buying it, she mentioned that her husband, John, had also put his up for sale. She sent pictures. I saved money. In November, Kim and I drove 1,800 (each way) to pick it up.

The bike is registered as a 1973, but the engine is a rebuilt 1984 Shovelhead FLH. John’s life has consisted almost entirely of tearing down and rebuilding engines, cars, lawnmowers, trucks, Harleys—you get the idea. This was his baby, and despite a bit of dirt from sitting in the garage (he’s suffered a herniated disc for over a year and couldn’t ride it), it was clean, and ready to ride. He signed over the title, and Kim and I loaded it in the back of her truck.

The bike has a clean title, but because the engine was rebuilt, there are no identifying numbers on it. When I took it to the DMV for registration, the inspecting officer couldn’t verify the VIN, and deferred me to California Highway Patrol for investigation.

I began calling the number furnished by the DMV that day, leaving a message for Officer Clay, the only VIN officer in Fresno County (as I later discovered). I continued to leave messages over the next six months, never receiving a returned phone call; I didn’t hesitate to ride during this time, despite the fact that my temporary tags expired after only 30 days.

In preparation for my ride to the coast over July 4, I started calling other offices, desperation apparent in my voice. I finally received the advice I needed: contact Officer Clay’s staff sergeant. The staff sergeant answered my call, and within 30 seconds he was able to transfer me to Officer Clay (who just happened to be available at the time…). I finally had an appointment.

On July 1, I scrambled to get to CHP in time, but once I arrived I was told Officer Clay wasn’t available. Instead, two men in jeans and flannel shirts accepted my paperwork and began inspecting the bike. An hour later, they explained that a state-issued identification number would be fastened to the engine, and that I could now return to the DMV to finalize registration.

The next day (the day before my trip), I sat at the DMV for another hour, only to discover that the two men who performed the inspection hadn’t completed the paperwork. After yelling at the clerk, and subsequently apologizing, I received an extension for my temporary tags (though, only after asking what would happen if I were pulled over without a completed registration).

Hopefully next week I can get back to the CHP, then back to the DMV…

Similar Posts:

• And the Harley saga has come to an end
• One fruit I can live without
• Suspicious me